Home is where the headaches are

Journalism isn’t easy, but a passion for the truth, and a love of caffeine will get you through

November 26, 2010. I walked in to give a job interview at The Express Tribune. The paper, already known for its liberal stances, had recently launched an Islamabad edition, and even though I had been away from journalism for a few years, after hearing about an opening, I thought I would try my luck.

I shook hands with Farman Ali and Maria Tirmizi, the city editor and senior subeditor, before seating myself across them. By the time I left the room, I knew I wanted to work here. But would they hire a reporter with limited editorial experience for what was primarily a desk job?

By December 1, that question had been answered, and I was sitting right next to Farman Ali, as his junior-most team member.

Over four years on, life has led Tirmizi abroad, while I still sit next to Farman Ali, but on the senior sub’s seat.

In these five years, I have seen highs and lows, from stories which brought positive changes to people’s lives, to embarrassments which led to apologies, from receiving praise for our work and role in shaking up the two-horse race that was our local English print media, to receiving threats for stepping on the wrong toes, and most gravely, watching in horror as coworkers were physically assaulted.

Sometimes, it came down to a situation where reporters couldn’t report properly on some stories due to security concerns, mostly legitimate. But as editorial staffers, we were bound to put out an edition. They say no news is good news, but we couldn’t just put out a blank page saying,

“Nothing happened”, as much as fans of Tribune’s clean layout might have appreciated the cleanest page in history.

On a more personal note, just as we’ve had ups and downs with what can be published, there have been ups and downs for the team.

Birthdays, weddings, and new children have been balanced out by injuries and other personal traumas, but the team has always stuck together, as a good family would.

After all, it became commonplace to see a senior staffer give an earful to a junior over a job badly done, then watch both laughing away together as they head out for a movie at the end of their shifts. We know how to separate work and play.

Then, there is the daily grind, the monotony, and the simple fact that print journalism has never been a career path which leads to fat pay cheques. The reward is always in the response to the story --- a life saved, a wrong righted, or a crook found out.

As my ‘veteran’ colleague Zafar Ali Khan often asks, “Why do we do this job? Every day is a new headache.”

Well, I don’t know why I do this, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

THE WRITER IS A FRIEND, BROTHER, SHOULDER TO CRY ON, AND OCCASIONALLY, ENRAGED SUPERVISOR FOR REPORTERS AND SUBEDITORS ON THE ISLAMABAD DESK